can you imagine?
by belle parole
Summary: draco, his mother, and forgiveness


_for the quidditch league - holyhead harpies, round four, seeker, write a fic based off of the quotes __"We're a clumsy family, we make mistakes." Russell Howard_

_1288 words by google docs_

_thank you to my team for betaing :)_

* * *

There's an effort to help clean up Hogwarts. The war leaves plenty of damage around the school, and even with magic it'll take at least a month to restore everything back to normal. They need all the help they can get.

Draco decides to help. It's the least he could do, after being on the wrong side. He regrets choosing to be a Death Eater, even if his father pushed him into it. He could have resisted, or fled, or _something_. He can't change the past, though, no matter how much regret or guilt he has, but he change help the future.

So Draco walks into Hogwarts the day after the Battle of Hogwarts, ready to help.

As soon as he walks into the Great Hall, he can tell that people avert their eyes. Everyone knows who he is, and what position he chose. No one likes him. Ignoring them, he heads to the Head Table, where he can see Professors Flitwick and Sprout holding a scroll of parchment. Draco assumes they're designating tasks, or at least know who is, so he approaches them.

"Hello. Is there anything I can help with around Hogwarts?" he asks, putting on a smile.

The professors share a look with each other and then look back at Draco. Draco realizes that his left sleeve has been pushed up. Self-conscious about his Dark Mark possibly showing, especially when he's trying to help fix the mess he helped made, he tugs it back down.

"No," Sprout says slowly, her eyes flicking back to have an unspoken conversation with Flitwick.

"Yes, we're really good, Draco," Flitwick tells him, giving Draco a smile.

Draco's pretty sure he doesn't imagine Flitwick's eyes travelling to his left arm.

_Oh_, Draco thinks, a pit forming in his stomach. Of course they don't want him.

He's a Death Eater after all.

He nods politely and walks away.

* * *

After that, Draco has a hard time coming back home. He decides to leave and stays at the Leaky Cauldron. He doesn't have anywhere else to go except back home, but he doesn't _want_ to return there.

He's angry.

Angry at his parents for bringing him up like they did, angry at Voldemort for starting the war, angry at Hogwarts for turning their backs on his the second the hat yelled "Slytherin". He has a lot of pent up anger, and he's not ready to deal with any of it.

So Draco stays at the Leaky Cauldron.

He walks to bar that first day, to get a room from the bartender, and he's stopped by someone at a table reaching out a hand to put onto his wrist.

"Yes?" Draco says, turning to the person. His heart is racing; he has no idea who he can trust nowadays, especially after ending up on the losing side of the war.

"Are you Lucius Malfoy's son?" the stranger asks him, looking up at Draco with his dark brows furrowed.

Draco's mouth goes dry at the mention of his father, but he answers nevertheless, "Yes."

Letting go of Draco's wrist, the man turns to his companions and they start talking. Draco starts to walk away, knowing they're talking about him, making assumptions, probably none of them kind.

Just because he's Lucius Malfoy's son.

It makes anger spread through his chest, red-hot, and it leaves a sour taste on his tongue.

He makes it to the bar without anyone else stopping him, but he's still reeling. He's still recognizable as a Malfoy. Even getting physically away from his parents won't let him get away from them.

He gets room, but only for one night.

* * *

The next day he leaves again. He stops by Gringotts to convert some galleons into Muggle money, and he checks into a hotel. To his relief, no one recognizes him and the only problem he has getting a room is figuring out Muggle money.

Sitting on the bed in his hotel room, Draco realizes that he's successfully away from his family. He honestly didn't think it would be that simple.

And then he hears a soft tapping at the window next to his bed. He looks over to see an eagle owl there.

With a sigh, Draco gets up an opens the window to let his old family owl, Noctua. He unties the letter from her foot while she softly nudges his arm with her head. The outside of the letter reads simply _Draco_ in his mother's looping cursive.

With a groan, he tosses it onto the bed. He knows that he's probably being childish, not wanting to go home and essentially running away, but the least his parents can do is _leave him alone_. Especially when they're the ones that led his life to be like this in the first place.

The childish, angry, resentful part of him wants to flee again, maybe to a different country, but he has Noctua nudging his arm and his mother's letter on his bed. He glances at it, and he walks over with a sigh and opens.

There's only three words written on a small piece of parchment.

_Please come home_.

Looking at his mother's handwriting makes his heart ache. Sure, it's only been two days since he's seen her, but maybe Pansy Parkinson was right every time she teased him about being a mummy's boy.

He's still angry, he's still resentful, but he doesn't want to run away. He can't run away from his family; he's still going to be a Malfoy.

He decides to go back home.

* * *

When Draco returns to Malfoy Manor, the house seems quiet. He goes up to his room, not making a noise, and he sits down on his bed, looking down at his hands.

He's already regretting coming back home. Every room reminds him of the long months of his seventh year, where he stayed home and hosted Voldemort. He can picture Voldemort everywhere.

"Draco," a soft voice says, and Draco looks up to see his mother.

He doesn't know what to say, but he doesn't need to know. His mother crosses into his room and sits down next to him, pulling her son into a tight embrace.

"Why?" she asks, in such a small voice. Draco has to blink back tears.

"I was angry," he responds, his voice sounding thick even though he has yet to let any tears spill over. "I hated our family for being on the wrong side of the war. I wanted to get away."

His mother pats his hair silently for a few moments, and a few tears run out, onto his cheek. He feels like a little kid again, hugging his mum.

"We're a clumsy family," his mother says finally. "We make mistakes."

Draco snorts at that statement, turning his head to face his mum's shoulder.

"You always told me us Malfoys were perfect," he replies, his words muffled against his mother's shirt. "That we never make mistakes, and that I needed to carry that legacy on."

His mum goes quiet again, before putting a finger under Draco's chin and lifting his head up to meet her eyes.

"And that was my first mistake," she says, sadness in her eyes. "We made a mistake, a big one, during the war, but if you believe we can come back from it, if you believe we can be good again…"

She trails off, and Draco sniffs. He doesn't know if he believes that they can, if he's being honest with himself. How can they come back from a mistake that big? They've never made a mistake like this before.

"Forgiveness," she says finally, poking him in the chest. "That's the legacy I need to carry. Starting with yourself."

He leans into his mother.


End file.
